"Possibly," retorted the other, unabashed. "What you find so fascinating in him I can't imagine. Still, my dear fellow, setting Vermont aside, there can be no two opinions respecting your chef. Sarteri is a possession I positively envy you. There is not another chef in England that understands entrées as he does."
"None," echoed Lord Standon. "Leroy will be famous for one thing, at least, if it's only for his cook."
The meal came to an end, and the table was cleared by the silent Norgate. Cards were produced, and the four were soon deep in the intricacies of bridge. They played high and recklessly; and after little more than an hour, Shelton and Leroy had lost over five hundred pounds.
"A close run, eh, Shelton?" laughed Leroy as he took the notes from an open drawer. "Had they played the knave we should have won. Time for another round?"
"Not I," replied his friend, with a regretful shake of his head. "I'm due at Lady Martingdale's."
"Picture galleries again?" laughed Standon, who knew that lady's weaknesses.
"Yes," Shelton confessed, "and with Miss Martingdale too."
The others laughed significantly.
"Say no more, Mortimer," begged Lord Standon, with mock grief. "Your days are numbered. Already I see myself enacting the part of chief mourner--I should say, best man--if you will allow me."
Shelton rose, laughing good-humouredly.